And so we hallucinate in a room of fogged mirrors,Lost in the reverie of youthful exuberance,It could be that we were lost to our own errors,But maybe it’s the wisdom in the folly of our senseless runs.

The coming of age;It is a thing which I’d rather waited.

In this drunken stupor, time is lost to us,We at last succeed in seducing mistress time,To slow down that we may step of the bus,For what use in this haste to come of age.

Do you note,
How in dreams, worlds take on new powers,
In ways awashed with vibrant colours?
You leap off cliffs of sanity,
And cherubs await lest feet dash on rocks,
Or
You call wings like they already were
And fly into realms only you dare
It’s your world, you decide.
Do you note,
When dreams come together,
How much richer reality tastes in retrospect,
As if the most vivid dream were naught but gray-scale
forgeries
And sleep but an inept fortune teller?
Chipping at the marble of amorphous dreams,
how muscles ache with frustrated strikes,
how sweat and tears is bitter perfume,
that beg of you to lay down tools,
conceding dream to altars of doubt

but do you note,
when in diligence you travail,
Reality is a masterpiece unmatched by dreams?